


Another Thing to Fall

by Vitreous_Humor



Series: Angel on the Outward Side [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Body Weirdness, Dark, Dissociation, Groping, Kissing, M/M, Twink!Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:26:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23521522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vitreous_Humor/pseuds/Vitreous_Humor
Summary: “Saw you,” Robbie purred. “Saw you, wanted you right away...”“Why?” asked Crowley shamelessly, and got a soft nip to the throat for it.“You're dangerous, aren't you? I'll bet you're mean. You'd know what to do with me, bastard like you.”-Crowley meets Aziraphale's alter ego, Robbie, and things go badly.
Relationships: Aziraphale (Good Omens)/Other(s), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Angel on the Outward Side [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605307
Comments: 22
Kudos: 79





	Another Thing to Fall

_London, 1915_

There were worst times to be queer in London, Crowley reflected. Even if you could still go to prison for life for fucking another man, you wouldn't get hanged, and this was the city, after all. Worse things got overlooked than two lads going at it. If Crowley wanted to find a bit of sin to hold up below stairs as proof he was earning his keep, he didn't have to go to some later-day molly house to find it.

Of course that didn't mean that he didn't _want_ to go to some later-day molly house sometimes. They were proper pubs and clubs now, ranged out from Regent Street in a web of basement rooms and salons. He felt as if he ought to have been partial to the Cave of the Golden Calf, if only for aesthetics sake if nothing else, but it was honestly a bit too fancy for him. With its elegant furnishings and intellectual gambols, it was really more the angel's speed, and well, that bruise was still a little fresh after their last meeting in St. James Park.

 _'S been a full fifty years,_ Crowley thought disconsolately. _That's a long time for an angel snit..._

He put the thought out of his mind and turned his steps towards the Roundhouse. He wasn't much of a regular, but he knew it would probably be lively enough this time of night. He could get something decent to drink, and if he happened to find some pretty thing who wanted to be shown the secret doors and deep mysteries of the world, all the better. He had met charming Kit through similar channels. That had been plenty of fun until it wasn't, but he didn't like to think of that.

It turned out that the Roundhouse, located in the sprawling stone basement of a rather indifferent pub, was more than lively that night. It was crowded cheek to jowl with a boisterous energy that could swing around in a heartbeat, and there was a kind of mayhem in the air that made Crowley prickle in an interesting way.

 _Might not mind a bit of trouble,_ he thought. He realized he was in something of a tempestuous mood after thinking about the angel earlier, and maybe teasing out a quick bar brawl would pull him out of it.

It was mostly working-class men and soldiers here, with Crowley among some of the better-dressed patrons, and he took a seat in the rear to see who would bite.

Crowley was still trying to decide between some kind of sexy fun or just some old-fashioned mayhem when the decision was abruptly taken from him.

Over in the shadowy corner on the other side of the room, there was some pretty shop boy playing a very stupid game. From where he sat, Crowley could see the boy turning from a brawny soldier to a scarred dockworker and back again, flashing a bright cheap smile that was designed to provoke. He had one arm slung around the dockworker's neck and the other hand settled very comfortably between the soldier's legs. It would have been just one more happy threesome if not for the edge of possessive hunger from either man. The boy looked less like he was trying to make up his mind and much more as if he wanted to see how long he could draw the game out.

 _Shoddy, that,_ thought Crowley idly, who knew something about temptation and lust. _Too obvious by far, and..._

_And..._

Recognition hit about the same as his drink came, and he left it at the table, tossing his payment down without looking back. He had to push his way through the increasingly rambunctious room, and then abruptly, it was too late.

Aziraphale, dressed in that goddamn face and body that Crowley didn't like to think about at all, had turned away from the dockworker to throw his arms around the soldier's neck, kissing him with abandon. The dockworker apparently didn't care for that and grabbed at Aziraphale's arm to pull him back around.

Crowley started to growl at that, but then the sound died in his throat as Aziraphale spun around and landed a left hook on the soldier's jaw, one so perfect it sent him skidding back and straight into a man carrying a pair of pints.

 _Wait,_ is _that Aziraphale?_ Crowley had time to think, and then the place erupted into a cacophony of shouts and blows with him in the very center of it. There was a rough tearing sound as someone grabbed at his sleeve and yanked, and he turned just in time to avoid getting a bottle to the face.

_Well, I was wondering if I wanted some mayhem, and there's my answer. No, I did not._

This was getting complicated, and in the ensuing violence, he had lost sight of the boy that he had thought was Aziraphale entirely.

 _Couldn't have been him anyway,_ Crowley told himself, fighting his way through the brawl towards the door. _Must've been some coincidence, some little lookalike._

Crowley emerged at street level just in time to see the coppers showing up - _tsk,_ someone _hasn't been making his payouts,_ Crowley had time to think-, and he might have gotten swept up in all of it if someone hadn't seized him by the wrist.

“Come on!”

Crowley let himself be dragged down the maze of alleyways and hidden lanes off the main roads, and as he went, he grew increasingly nervous about who was dragging him along. The whole night had taken on an unreal quality, something between a fever dream and a panic attack, and finally, when they came to a quiet little plaza behind a flower shop, Crowley dragged the boy who had gotten him out to a stop.

“Wait, wait, quit, I...”

He stared, because at close quarters, there was absolutely no mistaking him now.

“Angel,” he managed to get out, but then Aziraphale was pushing him against the splintery wall of the butcher's shop, freezing cold hands on Crowley's face and kissing him hard.

Somebody help him, but Crowley let it happen.

He knew he should be asking questions, knew he should be pushing Aziraphale back, demanding to know what in the name of Satan he was playing at, but in that moment, all he knew was that the angel was kissing him, it was the angel pressing against him, the angel's mouth on his, the angel making the most soft and wanting noises against his lips and...

No.

It wasn't the angel at all, and a frisson of terror sped up Crowley's spine even as eager hands pawed at his jacket.

It didn't feel like the angel, it didn't look like the angel, and whatever made Aziraphale _Aziraphale_ was buried so deep that Crowley didn't think even Heaven could find it.

“Aziraphale, what have you _done?”_ Crowley blurted out, and there was a bright flash of white teeth followed by a soft laugh.

“Robbie,” said the little monster in front of him. “My name is Robbie...”

“Robbie,” Crowley echoed uncertainly, and then there was a dark-haired boy in his arms, pushing him against the wood, kissing him with with a raw edge of longing on his lips. It was a potent cocktail of temptation brimming over with something forbidden, and for several long moments, Crowley gave himself up to it, because, fuck, it might not be the angel, but it was close, sort of...

Crowley's hands came up to slide along the curve of Robbie's waist, up to his shoulders and down to rest on his rear. Robbie made a pleased little sound, pressing his hips against Crowley's and nuzzling down to the point of his jaw.

“Saw you,” he purred. “Saw you, wanted you right away...”

“Why?” asked Crowley shamelessly, and got a soft nip to the throat for it.

“You're dangerous, aren't you? I'll bet you're _mean._ You'd know what to do with me, bastard like you.”

Another shiver went down Crowley's spine, harder to ignore. His hands came up to settle on Robbie's waist again, and he licked his lips as Robbie's hand slid under his jacket, running down to his hip.

“Um. Tell me about that. What should I do with you?”

Robbie smiled, and Crowley thought _tempter, damnation,_ and _oh fuck._

“What do you _want_ to do with me?” Robbie murmured, and then he reached down between Crowley's legs, cupping a cock that hadn't been there before.

_I want to take you home, I want you in your right body and your right mind, I want you to look at me and recognize me and recognize me as something that you want as well..._

He couldn't very well say that. He ended up kissing Robbie instead to buy himself some time, because it felt like he was running out. It was as if from the moment he had laid eyes on Robbie-who-wasn't-Aziraphale, a clock had started ticking, and he had no idea what would happen when it hit midnight.

Robbie tasted like indifferent beer with a sting of something celestial that told Crowley beyond a shadow of a doubt who he was kissing. Robbie was too eager, all tongue and teeth, and he tugged out the tail of Crowley's shirt to press chilly hands against his belly and up his chest. While Crowley had no philosophical qualms about quick gropes in dark alleys, there was something that was too much to handle about all of this, and finally he wrapped Robbie up in his arms, more to hold him still than to bring him close.

“Listen...”

“I'd let you hit me,” Robbie murmured, nuzzling the side of Crowley's throat. “I'd let you fuck me raw. Want to come on my face? Want to make me cry?”

The eager words twisted Crowley's stomach, and for a moment, he genuinely thought he would be sick. Was that what Aziraphale saw, what Aziraphale thought? Then the real purpose behind the words cleared his head like the slash of a machete, and he shoved Robbie back, because he knew how this went, knew it very well as a matter of fact.

“No,” he snapped. “I'm not playing this damned game. I'm not some soldier you can trick into provoking you.”

Robbie's cold eyes told him he had guessed right, and he nodded grimly.

“Right. We're done here.

He pushed Aziraphale away (of course it was Aziraphale, it was no one else), and the remembered sting from their last meeting at St. James echoed in his head. He wasn't sure what kind of game the angel was playing, whether he was sneaking out for a bit of fun behind Heaven's back or whether this was something far nastier pointed at Crowley himself, and right now, he didn't care.

“You want me,” Aziraphale said, scowling, and Crowley let a low angry breath hiss out between his teeth. Of course he did.

“Haven't _you_ learned some pretty tempter tricks,” Crowley snapped. “Don't go trying them on me.”

He started to walk past, but Aziraphale grabbed onto his sleeve. It was too much, and Crowley wrenched his arm away, spinning to stare at the angel with his teeth sharp and his tongue forked.

“If you come at me with that face again, I swear to you, angel, I will tear it to pieces. Leave _off.”_

He could feel Aziraphale's gaze on his back as he walked away. His anger simmered down to something dark and thick, and he was mired in it.

 _Unclean,_ he thought, and he knew that no amount of scrubbing would get this muck off, not the anger, not the memory of the angel's touch or his own confused and persistent arousal. He could be bitterly proud of how well he had taught Aziraphale his tricks over the course of the Arrangement. He could search out the angel in the morning, have it out for him for once and all what the fuck this all meant, if it meant anything, if _he_ meant anything to Aziraphale.

There was nothing in him that could handle what a mess that might be. Instead, Crowley went back to the rooms he was currently renting, warded his bedroom with the worst hexes he could come up with, and fell still fully clothed into bed, tugging the blankets over his head.

Crowley had one last half-formed thought – _I better not fucking dream of him_ – and then he was good and gone.

**Author's Note:**

> -Hey! I'm nominally back! I've missed this a lot, and oddly enough, I missed this particular fic, strange and bastard thing though it is.
> 
> -I'm not going to get in to it (this series has one more present-day installment) but fuck is it bad news when Aziraphale lets Robbie out to play. I imagine that when Aziraphale comes back to Robbie after some time away, he finds a corporation that's still bloodied up, drugged out out and filthy, just as it was when he put it away. 
> 
> -I hope you're all well; I've not abandoned my WIPs, I'm just hiding from my sins.
> 
> -I'm still not sure about this series, how everyone is feeling, and how 'right' their reactions are. Whenever I try to figure it out, i end up just shrugging and saying "Yeah, I dunno, I just work here." Thanks to everyone for chiming in on the last installment, it really helped a ton.


End file.
